


Seasons

by kitsunesongs



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunesongs/pseuds/kitsunesongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She reminded him of winter, at first, and at first, he reminded her of summer…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seasons

She reminded him of winter, at first. Her kimono, as white as snow. Her skin, even paler than her kimono. Her emotionless face, like the endless snow that covered the ground and hid the treacherous pitfalls that could break a man's neck. Her cutting words, like a blizzard, clearing his mind and making him question.

Then the ice started to melt, glances like a shock of sunlight on a mountaintop came his way, words, softer and gentler than before, soothing him instead of cutting. A scent of flowers, of white plums, like the scents that wafted his way when he was training in the forest with his master. A touch of a soft hand like the little green shoots that forced their way through their covering to show that spring was coming.

* * *

At first, he reminded her of summer. His hair, as red as blood, red as the sunset that set the lake by her house on fire every night. His eyes, amber, glaring yellow, like the scorching sun that burned everything. His hands, with fingernails bitten to the quick and fingers rough with calluses that clenched a sword and took away her happiness, just as the sun dried up the water, spreading the sickness that took her mother's life when she was still weak from giving birth.

Then she started to know him, to see past the Hitokiri to the lonely, angry, hurting, frightened boy beneath, and it was like autumn had arrived, freeing the air and letting her breathe. She looked at his hair, and saw in it the red-gold of leaves about to fall, that covered the ground and flew in the air at the touch of childish hands. She looked at his eyes, and they were violet now, not amber, the soft violets that her mother used to tuck behind her ear, and which carpeted the little glade in the forest where Kiyosato had first told her he loved her. She looked at him, and knew that she would not let winter come for him.


End file.
